


Aid

by Fangu



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangu/pseuds/Fangu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basch again seeks Ondore's help. They end up 'debating' who has the upper hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aid

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been rewritten so many times I can't keep count. Too many traps to fall into with this pairing. Read at your own risk.

 

“Sorry. Can’t be helped.”

They were not for the Marquis of Bhujerba, the last words Basch fon Ronsenburg spoke on his previous visit to these grand offices: Square in shape, elegant pillars and statues of delicately carved stone, its tall windows overlooking most of the Sky City of Bhujerba. His words were an apology to his own companions for drawing sword on the Marquis, done to offer an excuse to arrest them and send them to the _Dreadnought Leviathan,_ a favour resembling the one resulting in his current visit.

The Marquis himself, Halim Ondore the Fourth, forty something yet already grey, sat quietly behind his large, triangular shaped wooden desk, his grey and saffron-yellow, high-collared coat stiff around his frame. His blue eyes narrowed at the former Captain of the Order of the Knights of Dalmasca as he leaned back in his plain, elegant chair.

“I am sorry, I can not help you.”

Basch, a lean man of thirty-six, shifted his weight where he stood in his loose red vest and light trousers cut below the knee, an attire very different to the armour he once wore as a captain. Addressing the Marquis, his voice was dark and thorough; Basch was not a man to waste breath on words. “I am grateful for getting us on the _Leviathan_ to rescue Her Majesty from Judge Ghis. However, it’s wrong to have her journey end here in Bhujerba. She is set on reclaiming her throne.”

Ondore’s face remained unmoved. “I spoke my opinion on the matter earlier today to Princess Ashelia and you both. My niece has no proof of her royal heritage, and so she will not gain the support of the Gran Kilitas of Mount Bur-Omisace, needed should she want to oppose the Empire. She needs to wait until such a claim can be rightfully made.”

Basch put a hand to his waist. “All she needs is to find another way to prove her heritage. Lend us the proper equipment and men and I will take her myself.”

“That could prove to be a most effortful quest, most likely not worth the trouble. King Raminas would agree with me were he here. He would not allow his daughter to put herself in danger.”

“Her Majesty is more than capable enough. As her uncle, you ought to know.”

Ondore smiled very lightly. “‘Her Majesty’, yet she has no throne. You place your loyalty in the Lady without questions.”

“I believe in Her Majesty’s claim, as I believe in Dalmasca.”

Ondore cleared his throat to lean forward on his desk, hands folding calmly against its hard surface.

“Dalmasca does not need royalty for it to be reclaimed. You came to me for a reason. You know I have cards up my sleeve.”

Basch tilted his head. “You would rather claim her yourself, is that is?”

Ondore’s face slowly changed colour. He leaned back again, this time with a sound resembling a low growl; his chair suddenly appearing too uncomfortable to sit in. With a brisk movement he pushed it back, its legs making a scraping noise against the stone floor, echoing off the walls. He stood up, fingers gliding along the marbled edges of the table as he moved along its length. He glared shortly at Basch, hands folded behind his back as he walked towards one of the large windows.

“These are bold accusations for a man of no rank.”

Basch allowed himself a chuckle. “Is it more to your level of comfort to think of me as rankless?”

Ondore scoffed, a sound appearing lighter than intended. “Please. I have known about you for years. A fine captain you were. But experience has taught me all captains are soldiers still at heart. You ruled a division of the military, not a great battery. The important plans of war are always made remote of battle.”

“Even leading men in battle takes cunning. Not to mention,” Basch added, “courage.”

“Vayne would have my throat if he had proof of my workings.”

“He wouldn’t take your life,” Basch said simply. “He would leave you in a cage to rot.”

Ondore turned, quickly shooting Basch a look before lowering his eyes to stare at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said, a hint of remorse in his voice. “To know you survived that cage for two years and now stand sane before me, it is - nothing short of extraordinary.”

“It was for a reason, as with Her Majesty. Fate would have us both alive, and so we are.” Basch’s hand seeked the shaft of his sword, fingers calmly toying with its engravings. As the days passed by, his arm was again beginning to listen - it was the proof he needed to trust he could still serve with honour. “You only did what needed to be done. Even for being the one to order me to that cage, you are also the reason I am still alive. And so I thank you.”

Ondore’s mouth stayed open as he glared at him, then permitted himself a laugh. “ _You_ thanking _me_. Oh captain, you are as virtuous as an untouched maid.” Basch’s response was but a look, to which Ondore’s eyes quickly pulled away.

“Regardless,” the great leader of Dorstonis said as he shifted in front of his grand window, “I would presume your appetite are hardly sated these days. Will you join me for a late supper?”

Basch crossed his arms. “An ex-captain, traitor even, invited to sit at your table?”

Ondore’s face remained straight, yet something glinted in his eye. “It is not a table. It is a desk.”

Basch hummed. Ondore might never have been a prime soldier, but he had always been a great strategist.

¨

When Basch had been caged for some time, he stopped feeling hunger. It was as if his body drifted into slumber, concealing any need he’d felt previous to his imprisonment. The hours he wasn’t strapped, he tried to rehearse his swordfight patterns, but as his muscles began fading, he could no longer muster up the strength. Instead, he practiced them in his mind: He imagined himself back in the courtyards of Rabanastre, training with his fellow soldiers, memorizing every motion at heart. He knew that as long as his mind stayed healthy, his body would withstand.

When Fran and the others freed him, it wasn’t his body that kept him from raising to his feet: It was his mind. For too long he’d lived as a person nearing limbless - it took time to remember he still had bones. Holding a sword had awakened his body, making him feel, amongst other bodily cravings, hunger.

Ondore watched him trying to restrain himself from helping himself a third time.

“You are still too lean for a man of your age and capability. Please.” He gestured towards the various plates of food.

Basch laughed coarsely. “I’m not sure it’s wise. I appear to know no limit these days.” He leaned forward to add a few more slices of meat and some fruit to his plate. “But it is true as you say. I take no pleasure in looking like a boy.”

Ondore poured his third glass of wine. “I always imagined you stopped looking like a boy the moment they put a sword in your hand.”

Basch chewed greedily on the meat. “I was barely fourteen.”

Ondore smiled with eyes dewed from the drink. “Well - am I mistaken?”

Basch smiled. “The best soldiers are always recruited at a young age, for acting or looking the part - preferably both.”

“Did you know already then? At the age of fourteen - were you aware of the consequences of devoting your life to the ranks? Were you ready to face them?” 

“My brother and I both wanted to protect Landis. Whatever benefits outweighed any disadvantage.”

“There are major disadvantages though,” the Marquis said, his stare curious - “Captains rarely marry.”

“Not so unlike the profession of a Marquis, then,” Basch said, looking straight at the man across the table while drinking deeply from his glass.

It might have been the wine, or perhaps a wish to confess to a man that was, in many ways, still a ghost. Ondore spoke his next words slowly.

“There was a boy.”

Slowly swirling his glass, he kept his eyes on its content. “He had a special skill, which I often mocked him for: He would always pick the worst time to do anything. I found it endearing, of course; there was nothing I wouldn’t give him - or forgive him.” Ondore smiled warmly. “He wanted to travel, the fool. Fate would have him end up in Nabradia’s capital.” He snickered. “On, of course, the exact wrong moment.”

Basch held his glass still, as if paying his respect.

“I’m sorry.”

Ondore shook the memory out of head. “Don’t be. It’s been years.” He took a sip from his glass. “He was the only man I’d ever tolerate, and I’ve realized the only reason I did so was due to my young age. I am past dedicating myself to boys.”

Basch chuckled, his face flushing from the wine. “So now you instead have many.”

Ondore glared. “I would assume you’ve had more, with your dashing looks and -” he gesticulated with an arm “- captain bravado and all that.”

Basch hiccuped. “I can not imagine you having troubles persuading boys to come to your bed.”

“I should invite you to join my council. You are quite the strategist at parrying conversational topics.”

Basch smirked, well aware the wine was making one of his eyelids drop. “And even so, I led no great battery.” Ondore stared at him, his expression matching his stiff collar. Basch swirled his wine. “I wonder, what other talents are there to be found within the ranks of military? Maybe we’re not all simple in mind.”

Ondore leaned back in his chair. “You made a promise to King Raminas, that is why you are here now.”

“True,” Basch said, wondering what card Ondore was about to pull out of his sleeve.

“Honour, a soldier’s virtue. Without honour, he is nothing, and to have honour, he needs to serve.”

“Your point?”

“Soldiers serve, men like me give orders.”

Basch laughed a coarse laugh. “I had men.”

Ondore scoffed. “You gave orders on what shoes they would wear and where they should run. No matter, these days you seem to be taking orders rather than giving them anyway.”

“Tell me, Marquis,” Basch said, “where does your finest Magicite go these days?”

There was a silence in which Basch knew Ondore was slowly turning so vile he might stoop to the level of soldiers having to share a room for too long.

“You are insubordinate, sitting by my table questioning my power.”

“How could I be insubordinate when I am rankless?” Basch said, emptying his cup.

Ondore rose from his chair abruptly, narrow eyes glued to Basch’s. “You are a captain with no rank, begging for my aid, and now you would insult me.” 

Basch grinned. “You would discipline me, then.”

The heels of Ondore’s shoes clacked resolutely against the stone floor as he walked determinedly along the edge of the table towards him. Basch chewed on a grape as Ondore reached him, staring hard down at the strands of blond hair tickling the former’s neck. Basch leaned back in his chair, lifting his gaze to the man by his side, still chewing on his grape.

Ondore’s hand was in his hair then, pulling, hard enough to make his head jerk back.

“Soldier boys always crave discipline,” he growled, the hold on his hair firm. 

“‘Soldier boy’, now is it,” Basch teased. “What will you have me do? Hold my head still by the hair as I unbuckle your belts?” The taunt in his eyes suggested he had not ruled out the possibility of his own guess.

The sudden jerk on his head that followed was a punishment. Ondore’s lips parted, his eyes grown feral.

“In my experience, soldier boys always need aid. Someone has to take care of you for you.”

“Then take care of me,” Basch said, eyes clear and blue.

Ondore’s face softened ever so slightly, the hand in Basch’s hair for a moment unclenching, before letting go. 

He cleared his throat. “I would have you on my desk.”

“Aye Sir,” Basch said, a hint of mockery in his words - was this how Ondore had his boys? - getting out from his chair to clear a part of the desk with one movement of his arm, sitting up. He leaned back as he watched Ondore remove his coat and the jewelled tie around his neck, placing them neatly on Basch’s chair. When done, he did nothing but stare, as a cat calculating which part of the mouse to sink its teeth into first. On that lack of cue, Basch began unstrapping his vest, pulling it over his head, throwing it on the floor.

Ondore stared at Basch’s chest, inhaling, exhaling, a sudden sense of longing in his eyes. Then his hands were on Basch’s thighs, his arse, squeezing to bruise, a hand again finding Basch’s hair as he leaned in to kiss, demanding, hungry - as Basch’s hand slipped inside Ondore’s shirt from its bottom, there was a shudder to make him grin against Ondore’s lips. Wanting to parallel it, Basch let his fingers rake over Ondore’s abdomen, sinking lower, palm closing around his cock, long enough to realize it was still quite soft, before being forcefully removed by a hand. Moments later the same hand was all over Basch’s groin, fingers playing, causing a gasp.

“You asked for my help,” Ondore said huskily, “not the other way around.”

Basch snorted a laugh, Ondore’s mouth wet on his neck as he started to kick off his boots, hands helping out with his buckle. Trousers lose, both their hands worked to pull them off him, the wooden table rough against Basch's naked backside as he sat back, his growing erection resting on his stomach. 

Ondore stood back to watch as Basch leaned back on his elbows, pulling one leg up to lean on the edge of the table. Ondore stared at him, staring at what was being offered, then got to work on his own buckles, slowly, eyes wandering all over Basch’s body as he did. Finished unbuckling, he paused, the thick silence the last thing needed for Ondore to rouse sufficiently.

He moved to lean over Basch, palms bracing on the table. Ondore didn’t kiss, instead put a finger to his mouth to wet, his hand finding its way below Basch’s balls, the light pressure on skin making Basch’s cock twitch. He rubbed, gently, playing with the flesh, pressing and stroking, slipping a thumb inside to produce a groan. He then began working him open, gently. Basch studied the older man’s face, the furrow on his brow, as his experienced fingers bended and teased. Basch closed his eyes, feeling the skin on his face flush, the musky smell of the grey haired man clear in his nostrils, making him realize he wanted this more than just so.

A finger found its way in, two - making Basch flinch as they tested the softness, his cock now hard on his stomach. Seemingly content, Ondore released his hand to have it pull out his cock to rest at Basch's entrance. Amused by Ondore's strange shyness regarding his own cock, Basch inhaled deeply as the erection became a force wanting, needing, to be inside him.

Blood now pumping through his system, Basch watched the meticulous movements of Ondore collecting saliva between his fingers, moving his hand to brush wet fingers gently against skin and cock. Basch shuddered, his wants and the liquid making Ondore already slide into him. Having learned the taste of food in the darkness, Basch closed his eyes, then repositioned his hips, letting it happen. He breathed as his opponent pushed, slowly, carefully, finding his way to him, his cock not much of an effort to take. Halfway inside, Basch could feel Ondore pause, hearing the soft rustling of fabric, feeling the change of his weight as the older man leaned forward to brace both hands on the desk, pushing all the way in.

Basch moaned. How long it had been since he was stretched and filled - a sensation belonging to his days of prime, when he was a young man, seduced by older soldiers. As the older man began to move, every stroke of pleasure stroke a chord in him, making him sing, unable to hinder his body of reacting to what was denied for so long. His eyes shut open to find Ondore staring down at him, his brow furrowed, his gaze liquid as he fucked with determinance.

“I bet you’re enjoying this, boy,” Ondore gritted, a pumping vein on his neck peeking out over the edge of his shirt, and to that Basch laughed; laughed and moaned. “Very much so,” he breathed, to which Ondore growled, a guttural sound from deep within his chest. Basch grabbed the hair on the back of his head, pulling him down to kiss hard, breathing through his teeth as he pulled back.

“No mercy,” he groaned.

Ondore fought off Basch’s arm, bracing, starting to work him harder. A hand slipped down to close around Basch’s cock. 

“No mercy?” Ondore repeated, his hand jerking Basch off steadily.

“None,” Basch gasped, throwing his head back as he neared his edge, his insides tightening, the rhythm of his breathing breaking up.

“You are mine to take,” Ondore breathed, “you are mine.” His pace was steady, determined, wanton - fucking as if a job taken seriously, his cock and his hand working just a tad too slow, too slow - and deliberately, Basch believed, deliberate, the bastard.

“None!” Basch wheezed as he pounded his backside with his leg, and Ondore responded, fucking him with the ferocity of a much younger man, teeth clenched.

“You need my help,” Ondore growled, “you’re a boy, in need of my help, and help you I will --” panting, he adjusted his hand to jerk with delicacy, applying just the right amount of pressure --

\-- and Basch allowed himself to cry, allowed his physical shell to unfold precisely as it wanted, his insides clenching, his cock pounding as he spent onto his chest.

Wheezing, he kept his eyes closed, laughing as Ondore pulled back. Surprised, he opened his eyes to find him wiping his cock with a moistened handkerchief, appearing as if he would end it at this.

“You’re a character of a man,” Bach snorted as he sat up, leaning forward to hook a leg around the back of his thigh. “Unfortunately for you, I know too much about the torments of denial to let you walk off with this mask.” He grabbed for his cock, fighting off any hands meaning to stop him. Successful in his quest, Basch put a hand around his backside, the other starting to work him as he looked up towards his face.

“I know nothing of masks,” Ondore murmured, fingers tangling through Basch’s hair. “Only of duty.”

“Then wear the mask of allowance,” Basch said, his other hand pulling down his trousers to slip the same hand between his legs.

¨

Pulling his high collar back in place around his neck, Ondore exhaled. “About your query,” he said.

Basch finished fastening the last buckle on his boot where he sat on the Marquis’ desk. “Yes?”

“I will see what I can do.”

But as Basch later learned, there was nothing Halim Ondore the Fourth could do for Ashelia B’Nargin Dalmasca to which she hadn’t already found a way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt was simply "bottom Basch!", having me go through the list of older men slash men in power I could pair him with. So then I went "hm Ondore isn't bad looking is he." (He isn't!) Thanks pornandnachos for encouraging me to write this!


End file.
